That is enough to motivate me to try to sit. But as soon as I go to take the weight in my arms, they collapse, and I end up on my back again.
“Where am I?” I ask.
“My room at the clubhouse,” Catfish says.
I suck in a breath. Then another. The pressure on my chest feels as though a truck is sitting on it.
“Wren, I’m Greer. I’m Butcher’s old lady, and I’m also a qualified doctor. I use she/her pronouns.”
I glance up at her and try to quell the shakes that are convulsing through my body. But finding myself at the mercy of a medical practitioner only makes it worse.
“I’m fine,” I say, trying to scramble away and failing.
Greer takes a step back from me. “Is me being here uncomfortable for you?”
“Yes,” I say, the word shooting from my mouth.
“Would you be okay articulating why?” Greer asks. “If there’s something I can do to make this easier for you, I’ll do it.”
There’s worry in the lines on Catfish’s forehead, and a buzz of anger that a doctor looked at me while I was unable to consent. “I don’t have a good history with doctors.”
Greer’s shoulders drop. “Medical negligence?”
I nod.
“Then I understand why my presence must be very stressful and difficult for you.”
She takes a quiet breath, instead of launching into a tirade to defend herself, which catches me off guard. I’m ready to fight and argue.
“If it helps, I can vouch for Greer,” Catfish says. “She’s looked after most of us at some point.”
“I’m here because Catfish clearly cares about making sure that you’re okay.” Her voice is soft, but professional. “I run a small, mobile clinic with outreach to vulnerable communities. Let me help you. Please.”
For reasons I can’t explain, I find myself capitulating. Maybe it’s the outreach she does, or the fact she’s not connected to some fancy doctor’s office with fancier prices.
“Fine,” I say.
“I feel like we should take this chest binder off so you can catch your breath, but I know that can cause dysphoria. Do I have your permission to help you remove it?”
I place my hand over my chest. “It’s not causing…this.”
Greer nods. “I know. But it is restrictive. And given how you feel right now, less pressure on your chest might be helpful.”
She’s probably right.
I glance to Catfish, uncertain how I feel about him seeing me without it.
“I’ll give you two a minute.” Catfish releases my knee and moves to a large dresser to the right of the door. He opens the third drawer and pulls out a clean black hoodie, neatly folded. “Put this on so you feel more comfortable. Tell me when I can come back in, Doc.”
“I will, if Wren decides that’s what they want.”
In spite of all the panic I feel right now, my heart rebels at the idea I might choose to not have him near me.
“Thank you,” I say suddenly. The words are still a little breathless. “For the ride. For seeing Blaze.” I gesture in a circle around my head and body. “Contrary to all this, I really enjoyed it.”
The worry and tension in the lines of his face relent, for a moment. “I’m glad. I’ll be outside.”
Greer waits until Catfish closes the door behind him.
